A/N: Once again more Ariadne. Sorry fellow Sirius lovers, but there's just nothing to write about Sirius's summer. : Song: Sari by Nellie McKay. Check her out.

Chapter eight l

Ariadne Chant::

I arrive at the house Homer had given me the address to. I wait several seconds before a voice speaks from the other side of the door. The accent is a heavy Hispanic one, so it takes me a couple of seconds to catch on to it.

"You her?" the voice asks and I nod before I realize he won't be able to see my nod. "Yeah. I'm she."

"Good." The Hispanic opens the door and looks me over, smiling. "Come in, amor."

I try to ignore his gaze, as I step into the near empty sitting room. The only real light is the candle the guy holds in his hand. "'Allo, my name is Orlando. I'm at your service." He motions for me to follow him and the light begins to bob away from me. I close the door gently and follow his voice. "Come meet the rest of the family."

The rest of the 'family' looks me over as well, but not in the lustful way Orlando had. Most of them are girls, runaways I take. "'Ello." One girl greets me, warmly for them, I guess. She pats the floor besides her as smiles. In a Cockney accent she introduces herself. "Me name Alice, though you can call me . . . well, Alice." Some of the girls laugh at her comment and she smiles. I notice one of her teeth is missing as I sit down next to her.

"So, mamasita, how long do you expect to be with us?" Orlando asks lightly as his hand brushes by my face lightly as he walks by.

"'Til the end of the summer, I would think. Then I'll be leavin' to travel abroad. Always wanted to do that." I know that I shouldn't mention Hogwarts to anyone here. Even friendly Alice. They will sell me out to Orlando in a second, and who knows what he might do with the knowledge. I may be new to this squat, but its rules aren't much different from that of the orphanage.

And it is midnight again. I am sitting in the back of the coffeehouse, but I know that Julia won't miss me this time. My mind retreats into the darkness, waiting patiently for Julia's voice. Her voice has always been something soft and beautiful and comforting in times of hardships. But not this time. The voice I here coming from my friend's lips is harsh and angry. Unlike the soft melodies she usually sings, this song is an angry rap against the world.

"I'm sorry for the mess

Sorry for the stupid way I dress

I guess I failed my test

And dontcha know

I'm sorry for my views

I musta been confused

And yet you know that really

I'm sorry for you . . ."

I look up at her. Her red hair has been curled tightly and they shine even in the slightly darkness. Her lips are painted a dark red. Either that or black. This is a side of Julia that she has never shown. Or she has kept it hidden from me all this time.

And the end of the song is a relief to me. I cannot help but miss the tenderness of the Julia I used to know. But this song is the thing that finally brings my suspicions to life. My old friend and who she once was is now gone, forever more.

"Enjoy it?" Through the heavy makeup on her face and the dark aura that seems to surround her, I see a bit of the old Julia I knew. I see the need for elevation. Maybe it isn't all gone. Not forever more, I decide.

"A little harsh, don't you think?"

"Not at all." Okay, she maybe wasn't asking for complements. So we both stood there, feeling like complete idiots. Oh well, what else was there to do, really?

Sirius Black::

And the wait to get the train station was nothing less than forever. I was twitching the entire time. I hadn't seen my friends all summer and I was getting itchy to see them. I missed them like a left leg. And there was the nagging desire to see her. You know, Ariadne.

I saw my friends first; Prongs, Wormtail, Moony and I exchanging tales of our summer, when I got the nagging yearning to see Ariadne again. So I quickly excused myself and went to look for her.

But the meeting with Ariadne is more jolting than I thought it would be. Especially since she has definitely . . . grown. Her hair is longer, and much wilder. Her gray eyes seem to pierce into me instead of just looking at me. Her form is thinner, which consequently causes her to look just a bit more like a spider than usual. But it is her expression is what catches my eye.

Her face is tear-stained and she doesn't seem to see me. Her eyes are unfocused and Isis is curled up in her lap, licking her fingers softly. "Ariadne?" I whisper as I approach her slowly and carefully. Her eyes focus onto my face and she doesn't respond physically. So I take a seat next to her and I gently place my hand on her arm.

"What's wrong, Ariadne?" She looks down at where my hand is touching her until I move it away again, and it sits silently in my lap. Then she looks back out the window.

"Ariadne!" I cry, getting more worried and more exasperated by the second. I feel like grabbing her shoulders and just shaking her until she goes back to normal. But I think it might take more than shaking her to get her back.

"What?" she answers, her voice cold and distant sounding, as if she's speaking from far away. "Just . . . leave, ok? I don't think I can talk right now. To anyone."

"Can't you just tell me what happened? Are you in trouble? Did something happen at the orphanage."

She seems to laugh at this. I don't see the humor. "Oh yes. I almost forgot the orphanage. It pales so terribly to what happened after."

"After? What happened there?" Worried? Could it be I am beyond completely worried? Yes it could. I can't say I've seen Ariadne looking worse than she does right now. And I've seen her pretty bad. Or so that's what I thought before this very moment. And I don't know what to do.

"Look, Ariadne. Can't you try to talk to me?" I cover her hand in both of mine, trying to see if contact with make her look at me. Her hands are cold and shaking. It turns out and I can't even look at her myself, much less see if she's looking at me. I've seen Ariadne angry, sad, and happy. But not terrified. Not like this. And I'm not in control anymore. I'm scared that she's scared. I wrap my arms around her and I hug her. Not like I'm her boyfriend, but like I'm her mother- or father, in this case. I wrap her up because I cannot stand the fact that she's hurt and scared and that I cannot do anything about it. And then it gets awkward. I would be lying if I said it didn't. Because after a second or two I notice that I just grabbed her, not thinking what would be the best position to do this in, and well, its just uncomfortable.

We pull away, or what would better be explained as, she pulled away. I don't know what to say after something embarrassing like that. So I sit there, and she sits there and Isis sits there. Or rather, Isis sits there for a little while, and then she jumps up and sits on my lap. I can tell Ariadne's surprised, but she doesn't say a thing. Isis doesn't need to say anything. She's . . . accepted me? Is that possible?

For a long while, we don't say anything. I don't expect her tell me much, really. She was never the let's-spill-all-my-secrets kind of person. But she does.

"When I first got there, I went straight to the orphanage, like I always do. And it wasn't there, or at least the not the way it once was. It had burned down early fall. Not the best arrival, I must admit." She looks up at me for a moment and smiles, I suppose at my expression, which, I must admit, is probably quite comical, with a jaw hanging down in disbelief and wide eyes. "Look, it was hardly the worst thing that could have happened. I easily found a squat, thanks to the information I got from older friends who had left the orphanage.

"The worst part came later." Her expression had saddened once again and she was looking down at her hands, curled around each other on her lap. "You see, years ago, I had this friend. For years afterwards, she was my best friend. But five years ago, so left. We continued writing to one another. Well, until two years ago when . . . she admitted something I wasn't comfortable with." I am intently listening to her words, trying to look ahead to what she is about to tell me, but for the life of me, I cannot tell. I can only wait for her to continue, which takes her a couple of seconds of silence. At last she goes on.

"She said she was in love with me. That she had known for years and years that she wasn't like other people and that, through time, she had fallen into the trap of loving her best friend. But, you see, I didn't love her back. I couldn't. And worse, she told me all this in a letter, and I . . .responded badly. We discontinued correspondence since then."

"So that's what's been troubling you, then?" I ask, unaware that I'm speaking low, as if I'm in a library. I know, even now that this is not a subject to be taken lightly with Ariadne and I walk on this path with caution.

"Not nearly. Like I said, I've had some time to heal about the loss of my best friend. I miss her, of coarse. But this summer, I saw her again. She's been traveling England, she told me, in search for . . . well, she wouldn't elaborate on what it was exactly. And we talked, and though I knew we couldn't get back our former relationship, we tried.

"And then she stopped coming to the coffeehouse, we'd been meeting at. I supposed everyone there had already been informed of what had happened, so her absence there, for she was daily visitor and read, and sang, her stuff a great deal, wasn't told to me. I didn't even know she was dead until two week after she'd died." It took me a few seconds to catch onto the impact of her words. And when I did, I understood. The thought of losing James brings chills to my spine and the sensation of a knife being plunged into my heart.

Once again I take her hands in mine, and this time, now that I know the situation, I'm calmer. She needs to be comforted, and it seems that just telling her story to me has made her feel better. And I hold her again, lightly, softly, and I know she's crying. I don't wipe her tears, I don't speak at all. I just hold her, and I think she accepts that as well. I don't notice that Isis is gone.